The Irish Witch rb-11

by Dennis Wheatley

  Promptly the Emperor devised a new plan to disconcert his enemies. The great fortresses on the Elbe were all still in his hands; he would march to the Elbe and cross it. But the whole of his Staff considered this so reckless that they confronted him in a body and begged him to abandon this idea. Reluctantly he agreed, but only to substitute the still more venturesome design of first crushing Bernadotte, then crossing the Elbe at Torgan and circling round to strike at Schwarzenberg near Leipzig.

  Had his men been tireless machines, this might have been possible, but for two months they had been marching and counter-marching, for a good part of the time in pour­ing rain. Their uniforms were sodden, their boots worn out and, owing to insufficient supplies to feed them, they were suffering from semi-starvation.

  The Emperor had gained a great victory at Dresden, but his Marshals had been defeated in five major battles: at Grossbeeren, Hagelsberg, Katzbach, Kulm and Dennewitz. At the beginning of the campaign he had com­manded half a million men but, mainly through his own ill-conceived strategy, frittered away over half of them. The hospitals were crammed, tens of thousands were suf­fering from minor wounds. Utter weariness and a spirit of despair now permeated the whole army.

  By October 10th he had been forced to the conclusion that he dared take no further risks and now, if he were to save Leipzig, even abandon the middle Elbe in order to concentrate all his forces in the neighbourhood of that city. On the 11th, Berthier received orders to move the Imperial Headquarters to Leipzig, and a frantic packing of documents began.

  During each of the past few days Roger had spent from a quarter to half an hour on a quiet horse, but he had not yet dared trot, and it was obviously out of the question for him to make the eighty-mile journey on horseback. In con­sequence he arranged to travel in one of the Mess carts, a small, two-wheeled, covered wagon.

  All through the night and the following day the long columns of silent, depressed troops made their way west­ward and, late in the evening of the 12th, Roger reached the city to find that Berthier had taken over a Saxon noble's palace as a headquarters. Knowing that his leg wound pained him when going upstairs, one of Roger's brother officers had kindly reserved for him a large clothes closet on the first floor, and had a bed put in it. Tired out after his long journey, he pulled off his clothes, tumbled into bed and was almost instantly asleep.

  On the 14th the Emperor arrived, bringing with him the unfortunate King and Queen of Saxony, whom for so long he had dragged at his chariot wheels while almost totally destroying what had once been their fair realm. With him, too, he brought the worst of news, which he had received a few days earlier. His hitherto most loyal ally, the King of Bavaria, had defected and entered into a pact with Austria that, in exchange for his putting thirty-six thousand troops at her disposal, she would guarantee a continuance of his sovereignty.

  Having left the Saxon sovereigns at their palace, Napo­leon pressed on to Wachau, a village about three miles to the south-west of the city, at which Murat had his head­quarters. It was the central point opposite the arc from east to south where the allies had massed their main forces. Murat was superior to them only in cavalry, and his gloomy report conveyed the fact that he had not used it with his old dash and ability. The fact was that he was utterly sick of the war, and thought only of how soon he could get back to his Kingdom of Naples.

  A similar spirit was displayed that evening by the other Marshals when the Emperor summoned them to a con­ference at the village of Reudnitz. Among others he bit­terly reproached Augereau for no longer being the intrepid leader he had been at the battle of Castiglione; to which the Marshal replied with equal bitterness, 'Give me back the old soldiers of our Italian campaign, and I'll show you that I am.'

  But Napoleon himself was not the man he had been, otherwise he would not have let the 15th drift by without taking any action, thus giving the Allies an extra day to complete their concentration. During that time Schwarzenberg was able to send a Corps across the rivers Pleisse and Elster in order to threaten Leipzig from the direction of Lindenau on the south-west and also, with new divisions that came up, extend the right of his semi­circle.

  That night Marmont, whose corps was stationed in the northern suburbs, reported watchfires, indicating that yet another enemy army was mustered there. Actually it was Blucher's Prussians, but the Emperor refused to believe his Marshal's warning of this new threat and, continuing to suppose that his only serious danger lay in the south-east, ordered Marmont to be ready to march his troops through Leipzig to support the attack he intended to launch against Schwarzenberg.

  Thus, on the morning of October 16th, when the Battle of the Nations opened, one hundred and fifty thousand weary and dispirited troops-—all that remained to Napo­leon—were opposed to three hundred thousand enemies determined to destroy him and ready to advance simul­taneously from the south, east and north of the city.

  The Emperor's forces were disposed on a convex front centred on Liebertwolkwitz, immediately to the east of the city. The enemy were stretched over a much wider arc, so he counted on being able to equal their numbers at any point; and, having driven Schwarzenberg's army from the field in disruption, deal later with Blucher and Bernadotte about whose positions he was still in ignorance.

  Berthier and the rest of the Staff had left the city to join Napoleon at his battle headquarters. As Roger was still unable to ride either fast or for any distance, he would have been useless as an A.D.G.; so, considerably relieved at having a valid excuse to escape the hazards of the batde, he remained behind.

  Having breakfasted, he painfully climbed the stairs to the attics of the palace, found a skylight and crawled through on to the roof. From that height, with his spy glass he could get a good view of the greater part of the country surrounding the city.

  At nine o'clock the opening shots were fired by the Allies from the heights they held opposite Liebertwolkwitz, and these were followed by a furious artillery duel that lasted for six hours. The Emperor then launched the two cavalry corps of Latour-Maubourg and Pajol. Led by Murat, these twelve thousand charging horsemen provided an amazing spectacle. They scaled the muddy slopes, sabred the gunners and enveloped the Russian squares. So deep was their penetration that the three Allied sovereigns who had been watching the battle from an eminence were forced to beat a hasty retreat. But Murat had forced the pace too early. His horses and men had not the stamina left to resist the counter charges by Pahlen's Cossacks and the Silesian Curassiers. The French were driven back in confusion, with the loss of both their Corps commanders.

  Meanwhile, an Austrian attack on Lindenau had been beaten off, but on the west side of the city, at Mockern, the French received a most unpleasant surprise. In accordance with Napoleon's orders, Marmont had begun to move south when he was suddenly attacked by Yorck's Prus­sians. Ney's corps should have supported Marmont, but was also on the move. Berthier sent a confused order for Ney to turn about, with the result that his fifteen thou­sand men spent the greater part of the day marching to and fro without participating in the battle, and arrived too late to help Marmont. He defended Mockern with great determination, and it proved the most bloody engagement of the whole war, ending by the French being driven out and left with greatly reduced numbers to endeavour to check Blucher's advance from the north.

  During the day the French had inflicted more casual­ties on the enemy than they had sustained, but they had lost at least twenty thousand men and had no means of replacing them. St. Cyr's corps of twenty-seven thousand men was far away at Dresden, and Davout's army, which had been strained to the limit in holding down north-west Germany, was still further away in Hanover; whereas Bennigsen was now rapidly approaching with the Russian Army of Reserve, numbering forty-one thousand men, and the ultra-cautious Bernadotte had belatedly begun to march south from Halle with his sixty thousand Swedes.

  On the following day, a Sunday, the general gloom in Leipzig was added to by the Saxons and other German troops, under General Reynier, becoming d
isaffected and threatening to desert; also by pouring rain. Experience had shown during this awful autumn campaign that in such weather infantry became almost useless, because the powder for their muskets could not be kept dry. This may have been one reason why the battle was not renewed but, in Napoleon's case, the malaise and indecision which had recently afflicted him played a part. Instead of planning a break-out, he spent most of his time dozing, then decided to send the captured Austrian General, Merveldt, to his Emperor with proposals for an armistice. But at last the

  Allies were beginning to realise that Napoleon was not invincible, and that now was their chance to make an end of him; so no reply was sent.

  On learning that Blucher had now advanced far enough from die north-west to threaten the only French line of retreat, the Emperor instead of taking time by the forelock and ordering a retreat to start that night, merely directed that his drenched and famished troops should withdraw nearer the city. He then fell asleep.

  Next morning, the 18th, the Allies launched a general offensive. Again Roger went up to the roof of the palace and watched the battle. From the south-west right round to the north-west, the city was ringed by over a thousand flashing guns. Cohorts of cavalry and great masses of infantry were pressing forward on every side but, as on the Saturday, clouds of dense smoke soon hid most of the fighting. Later in the day he learned that at Paunsdorf, to the north-east, the Allies had broken through the ring of the defence, owing to three thousand Saxons having gone over to the Russians and taking with them nineteen guns which they promptly turned on the hated French.

  By evening Roger decided that the battle was now irretrievably lost and that, for him, it was time to go. His friend having had a bed put up for him in a clothes closet now proved a piece of unexpected good fortune as, on his hazardous way up to Hamburg, civilian clothing would protect him from stray bands of Germans. When he tried on some of the clothes, he found that they had all been made for a man a few inches shorter than himself and much fatter; but that could not be helped. He chose two cloth suits, some shirts and other garments, packed them, with his own possessions, into a portmanteau and hobbled downstairs with it.

  Berthier had left all the headquarters transport in the palace stables, and the Mess cart in which Roger had travelled from Dresden was among it. The name of the man who had driven it was Dopet. Routing him out from among his fellow drivers, Roger said he had been ordered to leave the city at once with certain important papers, to ensure that they should not fall into the hands of the enemy; then had him put the portmanteau in the Mess cart.

  Accompanied by Dopet, he went to die kitchen and collected ample stores for the journey. Next, he secured two muskets and a good supply of ammunition from the guardhouse. Finally, while Dopet harnessed a stout little cob between the shafts of the cart, Roger made himself a comfortable seat in the back from half a truss of hay. Then they set off into the semi-dark streets which resem­bled an oasis in an inferno, as on the outskirts of the city there were constant explosions and many houses in the suburbs were on fire.

  Under Roger's direction they reached the bridges to the west of Leipzig. Only in that quarter was there now no fighting in progress, but considerable numbers of men were crossing the river. Roger guessed that they were de­serters, and in fact they were only anticipating the Emperor's order given to Berthier a few hours later that night, that the whole army should retreat.

  Later Roger learned that he had been lucky to get out of Leipzig when he had, as during the night the bridges became ever more crowded and on the following morning it was only with difficulty that a way was made for the Emperor's coach. By then all that was left of his army was converging from south, east and north on to the one road leading west. The narrow streets of Leipzig were half blocked by abandoned guns and wagons. Between them squeezed solid masses of panic-stricken troops, breathlessly fighting their way toward the bridges. Hun­dreds of bursting cannon-balls, coming from three direc­tions, added to the horror and confusion. Dead and wounded alike were trampled on by those still capable of making a desperate attempt to escape from that inferno. Many buildings were on fire, and in the suburbs Aus­trians, Russians, Prussians, Swedes and Saxons drove the wretched French from building to building, until tens of thousands of them had been forced out of the city in help­less herds.

  The bridges were hopelessly inadequate for such masses to cross except in a comparative trickle. Early in the day the situation was still worsened by one bridge collapsing and another—the largest—being prematurely blown up owing to an error by a nervous Sapper. In desperation the fleeing host sought to escape by swimming the river. There followed a scene reminiscent of the crossing of the Beresina during the retreat from Moscow the previous winter. Hundreds of missiles exploded in the water and on both banks, creating a holocaust. Thousands of men were killed and thousands of others caught up in a tangle of bodies, and drowned.

  Among the latter was the gallant Prince Poniatowski who for so many years had loyally led his Polish division in Napoleon's battles, vainly clinging to the faithless Corsican's promise that in due course he would restore Poland as an independent Kingdom. The Prince's death was the more tragic in that, only the previous day, Napoleon had made him a Marshal.

  During those terrible twenty-four hours that saw the final defeat and utter rout of the great army that Napo­leon had mustered in Germany early that summer, Roger succeeded in getting well clear of the battle area and the early deserters who had crossed the bridges the previous evening, as he had. They naturally took the roads to the south, hoping to reach the Rhine and the protection of the many French-held fortresses along it; whereas Roger's destination was Hamburg, so he had Dopet take a by­road leading north-west.

  By morning they had covered some twenty miles and when full daylight came he decided that they must give the little cob several hours' rest. The most likely way of avoiding dangerous encounters was to spend the time in a wood, so when they next came to a track leading into one, he told Dopet to drive up it. At a brook they watered the animal, fed it, ate a meal, then made themselves as com­fortable as they could in the Mess cart.

  About midday they roused and had another meal. Dur­ing it Roger told Dopet that they were going to Hamburg, so would have to pass through country where they were almost certain to run into bands of German irregulars. He then opened the suitcase, showed Dopet the two civilian suits, and said, 'We are going to change into these; then we can pass as Germans. That is, provided you don't open your mouth. I speak German quite fluently enough to be taken in these parts for a Rhinelander, so if we are chal­lenged, I think we should get by without trouble.'

  Dopet was a sturdy, unimaginative young Fleming, and although he would have much preferred to travel south rather than north, he had been in the Army long enough to know that one did not argue with officers. When they had changed, both showed amusement at the other's appearance. Dopet being shorter than Roger his trousers were the right length, but he had powerful shoulders, so when he struggled into the coat it burst at one of the seams; while Roger's coat fitted fairly well, but his trousers were absurdly short. They got over the fact that the owner of the clothes had had a large paunch by folding the slack under tightened belts. However, their appearance was a matter of no great concern, as they were not attempting to pass as persons of quality, and at that date clothes were so scarce in Germany that those they were wearing might easily have been bought second-hand.

  Having packed their uniforms in the suitcase, they set off, and by late afternoon had covered another fifteen miles. They then rested again for several hours in the neck of a wood. From a map Roger had brought with him, he knew that the little town of Sangerhausen lay some twelve miles ahead, and he wanted to pass through it during the hours of darkness; so at about one o'clock in the morning they took the road again. Well before five o'clock they were clear of the sleeping town and, a few miles beyond it, settled on another suitable spot for a long rest.

  By moving from Dresden to Leipzig
Roger had reduced his distance from Hamburg by about fifty miles, and now they had come another fifty; but they still had a hundred and fifty to cover and, anxious as he was to reach Ham­burg, he felt that the utmost that could be expected of the little cob that drew the Mess cart was twenty-five miles a day.

  Since he had been used, when on an urgent matter, to ride a hundred or more miles a day, he found this slow pace terribly frustrating. Yet there was no alternative. Even if he could have secured a horse, he would not have dared ride at more than walking pace with his terribly torn leg only recently healed. Walking beside the cart, for a good part of each day while Dopet led the cob, was better for his leg.

  While he limped along, he became ever more depressed at the probable outcome of his journey. Admittedly, he had never known one of Georgina's predictions about the future fail to come to pass, yet fundamentally her vision of Charles was absurd, because whatever crime Charles had committed, he was an officer and if he were con­demned to death, he would not be hanged but shot. Yet, adoring Georgina as he did, how could he possibly not have volunteered to undertake this forlorn hope of chang­ing the course of Charles's fortune by getting him back to England? He could only console himself by the thought that, having spent three months journeying from one end of Europe to the other, in another few days he would have done all he could and at last learn if Charles was already dead or still alive.